Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1887-01-01

but when the axe touched It. IT crumbled into dust
ana was as nothing Only some Wondering bones,
tress or two of dark brown hair and the BLADE OF
dagger remained TO tell OF one who had been
nur I1 by Violence into an untimely grave
'CIOSe the box again and we Will bury him,
said Moorhouse, after he had looked at him a mo-
ment.
"The lid was split and hacked in all directions,
but found another, in a little shed beyond the
barn, and we nailed 1t down securely over the
last witness OF Antoine Morelli's crime. Lifting
door We dug grave sn and laid I him there, and
Wlid rose bush, growing near, we tranSplanted
ana trained TO cover his last home with grace and
'This sad duty done, we knew that we could no
longer remain there MoOrhOuse helped me bring
MN and put them outside the gate, TIL he could
send for them. 1 took last look at the rooms
where | had hoped TO dwell for many days;
scanned the dark face of the murderer for the
last time, and then we came out and locked the
cottage door behind us; l brought my horse
around and fastened him beside the gate.
'MOorhOuse went with Inc and stood by Morellfs
grave.
emphaticaly. But you, lad. Whittier will you
wend? Why not come and stay while with me?
My house is large enough to hold another. You
had best come
81 shook my head.
".No, 1 must be alone I shall find place yet,
believe, where man has done 10 violence
ana we part here-forever?
"I suppose So
"Your way lies over the mountains?'
eyes
eff 1 were younger and stronger, believe
should go with you. But as it is, can only say
God bless thee, lad, and goodbye
ave shook hands warmly, he patted my horse
kindly as he passed him, and took his way down
him Till he was out OF sight, and then mounted my
horse.
81 looked back at the cottage as rode away,
and could have sworn that the face OF Antoine
Morelli was watching me from the window. 1t
might have been a fancy-but 1T does not matter
since the cottage Is empty now"
The paper fell from my trembling hands.
"Bnt 1t does matter-it must MATTER" said 10
myself.
'.For am here and for days and weeks have
been walking over graves, without knowing it,"
looked towards the cottage. There were many
things inside belonging to me. These could be
what had read could never think OF living there
any longer. But my gypsy-hat, my scarf, my
gloves, these were necessary articles, and In the
inner room.
Il will not be fool" said to myself, and
walked bravey in after them.
In spite OF myself / took one last look at Nor
ellis face, as L snatched my hat and scarf from
their nails and my gloves from the table 1t seemed
70 work ana change; and as gazed the outer door
rushed through the rOOm voices and footsteps
seemed all around me and fed, like coward,
with my heart beating fast and my legs weaken
ing beneath me.
i could scarcely open the outer door with my
trembling hands, nor did strength and courage re-
turn with the first long draught OF fresh air. A
Stealthy fOotStep seemed stealing behind me.
could hear the crealIng of the floor, and as hur-
riedly locked the outer door 1ancied saw the
pale dark face looking through the window, and
dead mans hand parting the branches OF the
thornless rose, that dead mans eyes might look
upon me.
The stone cross rose dark and gloomy in the adj
Vancing twilight. and the daisies upon the muir
derer'S grave bowed their white heads to the
ground a night wind went sweeping by. l
stood but a moment there heart and sense We're
failing me alike, and led like deer along the
road that led to the town.
The cottage is mOudering away piecemeal.
Sometimes pass ii in my daily drives. but it is
always empty. No one is fOOlhardy enough to live
there now